And With This, Your Fate Is Sealed
by quotingCorvids
Summary: In which an unfortunate someone gets reborn into the least desirable role in canon, in their very own humble opinion. How were they supposed to preserve the plotline if they didn't know what exactly the plotline was? SI-OC fic, reincarnation, OC-insert. Canon's getting derailed, and fast, so AU. Canon divergence
1. Chapter 1

The truth of the matter is I never truly believed in God. Yes, I did have fantasies of Heaven and eternal happiness, but what human being doesn't? But they were just that: fantasies. There was no utopia, no pearly gates opening up to an expansive castle in the sky. Elysium, Heaven, whatever you may call it: it didn't exist. Humanity didn't deserve such beauty. Earth was our paradise, which we fucking ruined, by the way. Humanity is a disease, set out to ruin whatever good thing is handed to us. It's just in our nature. Earth was our shiny new toy, our chance at eternal happiness, and we broke it. No more chances for us!

Reincarnation, on the other hand… It seems nice and all; a second chance at life, a chance to make things right and learn from your mistakes. But, really, is it? There's no guarantee you actually get to live out that life. You could be reborn anywhere. Your circumstances could be worse. I mean, imagine being reborn in a third world country to a family steeped in poverty. And if we're getting into fictional universes, imagine getting reborn into Hunger Games. Yeah, I said it. See what I mean? It's not all sunshine and daisies. Some universes are better left untouched.

But… Since you're reading this, you probably already know where I'm going with this. Yeah, I got reincarnated. It sucked, I guess. But what do I know? I'm just the result, the person recounting their journey to you after it already ended. Maybe I'm wiser, hardened, a better person than I was before. But if you want the real hilarity and nitty-gritty angsty shit, then you need to visit me at the beginning of the journey, snivelling coward I was, too concerned about "plot" before I just said fuck it. And hey, maybe you'll learn something from them. But like I said earlier: what do I know?

••••••••••••••

Dying was unprecedented, like it usually is. Nobody really plans their time of death and the way they die, after all. Me? I don't remember how I died, but I do remember what came after.

It was dark, but it wasn't cold. Maybe it was, when I could still feel temperature, but at that time, there was none. There was no sound, no light, and I couldn't feel myself breathe, couldn't feel my heart beat. One by one, the color faded away and my senses were stolen out from under me. Which way was up? Which way was down? Was I floating? Laying down? Sitting? Standing? What was happening to me?

What stole my senses starting tearing away my memories too, my emotions. I didn't remember who I was, couldn't recall a single thing about myself. Maybe I was scared, but I _forgot_ was fear felt like. I forgot happiness, anger, forgot everything. I was nothing. Not even a person anymore.

Death strips away your identity. It strips away your humanity, tears your soul and flushes it down the drain. Death is the destruction of the human, all of it: the body, the soul, the identity, the emotions. Nothing is left for you, after death.

I couldn't tell time in that void. I didn't even know what time was. Nothing mattered, because I didn't know everything. There wasn't even an 'I'.

But I woke up. After a while, I opened my eyes to a ceiling, devoid of emotions and memories and any sense of identity.

I was just a child. Maybe coming into a year. But slowly, everything trickled back into me. First were the emotions, untamed and uncontrollable in my soft, young new fleshbag. Then were the memories, fragmented pieces of information and of my identity I guarded closely. By the time I was seven, I had accumulated every last bit of whatever the void of death had permitted me to have. Was I grateful? Not really. I could still feel that nothingness, that loss and destruction in my dreams. I never had nightmares, just flashbacks. Memories of death.

I wasn't sure what this body's name was. I was shoved into a male aligned baby human, sure, but did I think of myself as male? Not exactly. I barely thought of myself as a gendered being. That was a product of my first life, one of the few things I clung to so strongly. I don't think I ever really settled on a name back then, either. So going nameless or by senseless nicknames were fine here, for now.

There was nothing particularly exciting about being a child. After collecting all pieces of my previous life, there wasn't much to do. Languages would've been welcome, but the family I was born into didn't have much money. The mother wasn't there, but the father? He was the only prominent person in this life.

Like my first life, I would have no fond memories of being a child.

The father's heart gave out, luckily for me, and just in time, as well. There was an old man with an offer of his hand, who called himself Bookman.

My first clue to which world I got conned into.

He wasn't too tall, but he wasn't a midget, either. He had the dark makeup around his eyes, but I wasn't sure if that was a trait unique to the Bookman of the series, or if it was traditional for Master Bookmen to wear such makeup.

Nevertheless, I had a sneaking suspicion to exactly _when_ I ended up.

••••••••••••••

"Why do I even have to wear this stupid thing…" I mumbled, flicking an auburn strand over my shoulder and adjusting the mask over my face.

Bookman swatted my hands away from fiddling anymore with the mask, slipping his own into sleeves after ascertaining I wasn't going to raise my fingers to the blank white plate that stretched to cover my entire face. "Tradition," he replied primly, and I sighed.

The clan of Bookman was located in the catacombs of a mountain, at least, the main branch was. Being picked as a successor for _the_ Bookman, the main recorder of history, was a bigger deal than I'd originally figured. I had been told I already "had the beginner's eyes for it", my perfect recall, which was the very reason that compelled Bookman to pick me up in the first, but apparently I needed to reach the "proper level". Shuddering internally, I grimaced.

The clan of recorders was steeped in more tradition than initially thought. Apparently, as the apprentice, I wasn't permitted to truly begin my apprenticeship to the master until my sight was "Bookman standard". I couldn't enter the main headquarters unmasked until I reached my 30th name. I wasn't allowed to look at previous records until I reached my 50th name. On and on, more rules and restrictions I wasn't even given a reason for. Maybe becoming a Bookman wasn't that great of an idea…

"Come, apprentice." Bookman already entering, I hurried to follow behind, tucking away my emotions into the void construct of my mind, determined not to reveal them even with the mask serving as extra cover. But stepping into the catacombs, even the mimicry of the void of death summoned in my mind couldn't contain the instinctive awe at my surroundings. People were sparse, and those around spoke in hushed tones, their voices bouncing off the high cavern. It was a sanctuary, came the thought, unbidden. A sanctuary for history telling of blood and war.

The entry hall rose high in the structure of the mountain, lined with hanging lanterns. The floor was smooth, worn down by thousands of feet eroding away the bumps and curves, and the walls opened up into many passageways. Bookman led me down a hall situated directly ahead and descending gradually, deeper and lower under the mountain. Reaching out with a hand, I brushed my fingertips over the stone as we descended, stepping carefully on the uneven stairs.

We entered a spacious room, with shelves lined with glass vials and hanging lamps.

"Your apprentice, Bookman?" spoke a voice behind me, and I crushed down my instinctive urge to flinch, instead standing still as the speaker emerged.

It was a man, with long grey hair like my master's, but left free instead of gathered with a ribbon. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and narrow, dark eyes that curiously didn't quite land on me.

"Yes," my master replied. "He needs his sight."

The man nodded slowly, stretching out his fingers to press the tips of each one below each eyehole of my mask. I stared him in the eye, until I realized.

He was blind.

"Come." The blind man beckoned me forward to the table, guiding me to lay down face up. Bookman lifted the mask off my face, dropping a cloth over the lower part quickly, careful not to cover my eyes. The other took a vial from the shelf and lifted the cloth slightly to expose my mouth, and poured the contents down my throat after he gestured for me to part my lips. I swallowed, grimacing at the acrid taste, and stared questioningly at him.

"To keep you sleeping," was my master's offer of information, and I nodded. "Your operation mustn't be performed whilst you are still conscious."

Operation. I frowned. He hadn't told me about this— _oh._ This was for my Bookman sight. Lovely.

Slowly, my vision began to blur out, and my eyes slid shut as I fell into the darkness of sleep.

••••••••••••••

"I will let you pick your first name," said Bookman slowly. "But only your first." He frowned at me, or more specifically, at my adjusting of my new glasses. "Stop touching them, they need to stay on."

I scowled, dropping my hands. "I know, I know. But still… Why couldn't I have gotten the eyepatch, again?"

"You're not wearing an eyepatch."

"That's not an answer."

"The foolish, young apprentice should take heed of his wise, older master's advice."

"That has nothing to do with anything!"

"Do you have a name?" Ah, avoiding the topic, I see.

I folded my arms over my chest, staring down at my feet. My first name… Wouldn't it be ironic if to begin my journey as a Bookman, I used and then tossed away the name given to me at my first birth? Did I want to drag that symbolism into my life? Did I truly wish to discard the name I once thought fit me best, back then?

"Morgan," I said. "I'll be Morgan."

Hopefully I'd be able to discard this name without a fuss.

••••••••••••••

I bit my lip, pressing my face against my pulled up knees. Where was I? _When_ was I? Was I Lavi, strangely without the eyepatch or the defining green eyes? Was I someone far before the period of "canon"? Or was I—

My breath hitched. No, no, _no, I couldn't be Allen!_

Theories were spun about the past version of Allen, most notably one as Bookman's previous apprentice he lost when they were on the side of the Noah family. But I _couldn't be Allen._ I wouldn't, I'd die, Allen wasn't—!

Allen was the tragic protagonist. Allen went through hell to get through his life. Allen was a boy _destined to die._

And I was too weak for that role. I couldn't fulfill his role, I couldn't walk the same journey he did and come out alive. Anything he went through would kill me. I wasn't strong enough to be Allen.

And what of the plot? If I refused to be Allen, what would happen to the world? The protagonist was the catalyst, the defender and the turning point for so many important events. Allen saved Miranda. Allen saved Kanda. Allen saved everyone from the Ark. Allen was probably the most important player in the act and if there was no Allen, everything would crumble. Sure, people who automatically step in to fill the gap, but they wouldn't be enough. That was the truth of the matter. Only Allen could do the things he did _because_ he was who he was. Nobody could be Allen except for Allen.

And I was so sorely, so obviously, not Allen.

I stifled a sob against my thighs and lifted my head to the sky.

_Please. Don't let me be him._

••••••••••••••

The plotline was yet another concern, but seeing as I really had no concrete idea of who exactly I was, I turned to building up my repertoire. Perhaps, if the slim chance that I was not trapped in the role of the tragic protagonist was true, I still needed to defend myself. There were monsters out there, not only the akuma, but the exorcists and the Noahs alike. Humanity was crawling with monsters in human skin, some more literal than expected.

Magic was the first thing I absorbed, sorcery and spells and tags. I briefly toyed with the idea of mimicking a CROW of Central, but resolved it was better not to draw the church's attention to me like this. Magic would be my greatest weapon as I was thrust into a war of titans, of Innocence wielders and monstrous akuma and the grey-skinned Noah. I didn't want to be squashed like a bug under their weights. I was just a small being, a human in the crossfire of a millennia-long war between people who were so much more than human, at least in power levels.

Being a Bookman provided me with a safety net, of sorts. I had access to information and sorcery books and the materials I needed to protect myself. Our code of neutrality protected me, as well. It was an unspoken rule to let Bookmen swarm the battlefield like the carrion birds, undisturbed in our recording of the carnage. Attacking a Bookman, killing a Bookman… perhaps it was allowed, but it was almost taboo to think of.

But then again, war would take everyone. People in war didn't care about laws or rules or codes. An enemy was an enemy, no matter their true allegiances.

The Helix of Life… I flipped the book in my hand.

Perhaps this was a confirmation of my identity, but I didn't want to treat it as such. I simply read it, devoured it, learned it, and moved on.

Or, that's what I should've done. But in the end, I kept coming back. Flipping through. Wondering if I'd meet Mana and Neah, wondering what really happened. Neah's betrayal… Was it truly just that? I didn't live to see the end. I was left in the dark.

How was I supposed to stick to a plotline if I didn't even know what the plotline was?

••••••••••••••

By the time I was at the end of my adolescent years, I had discarded my 87th name. I was powerful, a master sorcerer, although definitely not on the level of being such as the Millennium Earl. But I was confident in my skills, in my research, and most of all, in my chosen profession.

Being a Bookman meant more to me than I ever believed possible. As I aged and saw more wars, more conflict, I festered a love for the unbiased, monotonous journey of history. We traveled all over, encountering new religion and culture and language, but in the end, they were all the same: humans engaging in bloodshed and savagery.

I didn't hate humanity. On the contrary, I found it fascinating. Humans grew and evolved, and yet they were always caught in the same trap that murdered their ancestors: war. Although it was often seen as a mistake, humans never seemed to learn from it, instead repeating that same mistake over and over without ever ceasing. It was the one thing mankind couldn't learn and grow from.

And in the end, being an impartial observer allowed me to see humans make this same mistake over and over. It fascinated me, the entire process of the rinse and repeat of war, and I never grew tired of it. In the end, I was also caught in the loop of war, but as an observer instead of a participant.

But of course, there were some unexpected side effects. Sometimes the persona attached to the new name would grow too far, be kept too long on the face to stay as a mask, an act. It would evolve, shoving me, the Bookman Junior and thus the core, aside, sliding seamlessly into the role crafted for them. It didn't happen with every name. It happened with those too different from the core, or those masks who were worn for too long to not be independent. I never told Bookman, although I do suspect he knows.

Out of the 87 names I have taken so far, only twelve had managed to promote themselves into a separate entity, branched off from myself. They were no longer acts, costumes to slip on. Instead, they were body doubles, seamlessly exchanging with me when their name was called. There wasn't much I could do about it. Not that I was uncooperative, of course. Simply tired of the strange conditions that came with being a Bookman.

Perhaps, one day, this could come in handy. But for now… It truly doesn't seem like it would be useful.

••••••••••••••

Leaning my cheek into the palm of my hand, I slid my eyelids closed and pulled up a memory of a random book, reacquainting myself with the memory. Recently, as a reward for reaching my 80th name, Bookman instructed me on a memory technique, stronger and far more valuable than any other memory recall. It allowed me to dredge up memories from before I had even gained my Bookman sight and reanalyze them, until I was able to recall them with the same clarity of a memory seen with my enhanced sight.

So why, do you ask, would I be so pleased with this ability, knowing my life before Bookman was less than fond?

Because this ability allowed me to recall memories from my previous life in perfect detail. Every song I had memorized, every language I know, every instrument I had played, all these memories were stored away in the depths of my mind, perfectly clear and unable to be forgotten. I never sought memories of my previous family, having an inkling of what I'd find. But the music and the books, the luxuries of the modern age I so sorely missed; I hoarded those memories with a ravenous fervor. Nothing could take these memories from me, and I laughed in the face of the void of death. Even that couldn't stop me from remembering.

"Junior."

I snapped out of my reverie, dropping my propped up arm down, both hands in my lap as I gave my master my attention.

"This war is one unlike anything you've ever seen," he began quietly, and my chest tightened, a sense of foreboding blanketing my consciousness. "We have recorded countless wars known to humans and fought by humans. But this war is not like the previous records. Cast aside any preconceptions you have of the future record."

My throat felt dry. "Yes, Master."

His narrowed eyes landed on me, searching for something in me as he always had, something I could never figure out. "This is a war that has been going on for millennia, unknown to the general population."

My heart dropped to my stomach. No.

"It will be soon reaching its end. I can sense it. It is fought between two sides, both which possess power far greater than anything you've ever encountered. We will be recording on the side poised for victory. Most notable among this side is the Clan of Noah, a clan of superhumans headed by a master sorcerer known as the Millennium Earl."

I could feel the chains of fate slowly tightening around me, anchoring me to this role. I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to hear him speak anymore. But I couldn't stop listening.

"For this record, your name…"

And with these last words, Bookman sealed my fate.

"... will be Allen."


	2. Chapter 2

By now, I'd realized I couldn't run. The jaws of destiny clamped shut around me, and I could no longer entertain fantasies of escaping this prison of a role. I was going to be Allen Walker, exorcist martyr extraordinaire, and there was no way around it. I would go through trials that would break normal men, and then I would die. That was my inescapable fate.

Bookman had greeted the Earl cordially, offering his services in exchange for allowance, permission to remain on his side as long as the war continued, until he won. I avoided the Earl's gaze, only exchanging expected pleasantries and not speaking at all. I avoided my master's searching gaze, curious as to why I behaved so strangely, and excused myself from our shared room with a claim of getting to know the Noah clan.

We both knew I was lying.

I didn't stray far from our assigned room, too wary of the akuma and more importantly, the members of the Noah family. I didn't trust the Earl's goodwill, wasn't confident in our safety like my master. We were only humans, in the den of monsters, and I didn't plan on letting my guard down.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, sitting precariously on the arm of the couch, and let my head drop, forehead resting on the top of my knees.

I didn't want to be Allen. Maybe I was being repetitive, but to myself, it needed to be repeated. I didn't want to be Allen, host of Neah. I didn't want to be Allen, cursed child. I didn't want to be Allen, an existence torn between Noah and exorcist. I just wanted to be Bookman, standing on the sidelines instead of _Allen fucking Walker,_ in the thick of the battle. I wasn't hero material. Allen's resilience and unfailing kindness wasn't a trait I had, and was much less capable of faking. Allen was an existence unto himself, incapable of being replaced. The universe was playing a sick joke, replacing him with me.

The truth of the matter was: Allen Walker was the savior of this world. How could the world be saved if he didn't exist?

Answer: the world won't be saved. The world was unable to be saved because its savior didn't exist, and would never exist. Without its destined savior, the world was doomed. Simple as that.

So why was I getting so worked up about it? Was my subconscious in denial about the fate of the world? Did I, deep down, think I could be the hero?

Maybe I dreamed about it. Who hasn't? But this was reality, and the reality was I was nothing like Allen Walker, and I was incapable of even emulating him. The chasm between myself and him was so great I couldn't even act like him successfully, not without the mask falling apart.

So I wouldn't bother trying. No matter my innermost wishes, I wasn't Allen, and I was never going to be him.

••••••••••••••

Noah were so arrogant. Of course, I guess they had a reason for that, what with some of their abilities capable of destroying entire cities of humans. And they _hated_ humans, saw themselves as superior, even going so far to call themselves the true humans and mankind "the subhumans". They were gods walking the earth, evil gods, but still gods. They were superior to humanity in practically every way.

Which was why my efforts to record more closely were so frustrating. The Noah understood our profession, and did nothing to cooperate. They brushed off my attempts to speak with them, sneered at me, although they never attacked me further than jumpscares and "accidents". I almost wished we were on the side of the Order, before I remembered the atrocities that organization committed during this time period. The Black Order of now was much crueler than the Order of canon time period.

Although my mask of "Allen" was very much impenetrable, they were not enticed by the friendly, polite persona I projected. It wasn't my behavior that put them off. It was my species, the fact that I was human. A fact I couldn't change at all, and it frustrated me. I was unable to draw information out of them for the record, and I didn't dare ask upfront, too wary of their reactions. I may be a rather decent sorcerer, but I didn't possess the ability to harm them. I didn't have Innocence, after all.

I sighed, collapsing on the rooftop of one of the Ark's structures, a good ways away from my designated room. I wasn't so keen on facing Bookman now, still with no further information for the record.

The Noah family had dinner together every night, as well as sometimes lunch and breakfast, with whatever members were around. Bookman and I were obviously not invited, just interlopers on the family.

I hadn't seen Neah. The Earl was young, yes, and bore quite a resemblance to the appearance of young Mana, but I didn't quite know how to translate images from a manga into real life. Mana didn't have very many defining features, and there was very little information on him.

On the other hand, I had a feeling I would recognize Neah on sight.

I had met several Noah; the current incarnations of Joyd, Merycm, and Wrathra. I hadn't met Road, yet, which I was thankful for, and while I knew the current Wisely was present in the Ark, I did my best to steer clear of him, practicing my mental shields, which mostly consisted of the cloying void of death, which never left my mind even once. I hoped I would be up to par once I encountered the mind-reading Noah.

I sighed, sitting up and crossing my legs as I sat down, a hand on each knee. I slid my eyes closed, took a deep breath, opened my mouth, and began to sing.

Music was my luxury, every memory of every song I listened to, played, sang, recalled with perfect clarity and permanently added to my memory. I loved music, loved singing and playing and listening to it. In my previous life, it was my anchor. Although its position had been replaced by my Bookman duties, music still held an permanent place in my heart.

As I hummed the last part of Run to You, letting the last note fall from my lips as it ended, I opened my eyes and nearly shrieked as my gaze met amber gold. I scrambled to my feet and stepped back several times, throat seizing up as I took in messy, ruffled dark hair reminiscent of a bedhead, grey skin, and the seven stigmata across the forehead, practically hidden by his bangs.

The Noah in front of me was undoubtedly Neah D. Campbell.

Said Noah grinned at me, approaching slowly and leaning forward. "What was that song you were singing?" he asked. "I never heard anything like it. Did you make it up?"

I stared at him, unmoving, until I could see uncertainty grow in his eyes, and I found my voice. "It's one of mine, yes. But don't you think it's polite to introduce yourself before you begin interrogation?"

He flushed red, a strange color against the hue of his skin. "Neah D. Campbell, pleasure to meet you." He held out a hand.

"Bookman Junior," I said in response as I took his hand. "Call me Allen."

"Great!" He adjusted his grip on my hand and started running, dragging me after him, through the empty streets of the Ark. I resigned myself to be pulled along, praying internally that he wasn't taking me to be killed.

We ended up in front of a door in the section of the Ark where the Noah stayed, and I squirmed a little, attempting to wrench my hand from Neah's grip unsuccessfully. He opened the door, pushing it open and yanking me inside, kicking it shut. I barely had time to take in my surroundings as he took a seat at a white piano in the corner of the room.

"Teach me the melody of that song you were singing," he demanded, eyes intently drilling holes into mine.

I grimaced, cautiously approaching as I surveyed the room: the white walls, the king sized bed in the opposite corner to the piano, the tastefully cream colored curtains, a bookshelf, and an entire wall of pictures. My eyes lingered on the picture wall before I hesitantly sat down next to the Noah on the piano bench.

"That song doesn't have a melody," I said slowly. "It was never meant to have one." Neah opened his mouth, irritated expression on his face, but I cut him off before he could even start. "But… There's another song I could teach you. You have some paper and ink?"

He brightened almost immediately and got to his feet, going over to his bed and— was he taking paper and ink from under his bed?! I raised an eyebrow at him, taking the offered materials, and he smiled sheepishly.

"You can read sheet music, right?"

He propped a hand on his hip, adopting a superior expression. "Do you even know who you're talking to? I'm the Musician! Of course I can read sheet music."

I held up a hand in self-defense. "Just asking. What do you even mean by 'the Musician'? I can practically hear the capital M."

As Neah spoke, I kept an ear out to listen, recording every word that exited his lips, while I dived into my memories. I closed my eyes, recalling the exact tune of the song and scratching down the notes on my hastily hand drawn music sheet. Teaching Neah A Million Dreams would probably not end in disaster, right?

Finally, the scratching of my quill ceased, and I present the sheet music to Neah with a proud smirk. "Learn it and play it. It has lyrics to it, too, so I expect it to be perfect so you don't fuck me up when I sing it."

A spark of challenge bloomed in the other's eyes, and he took the paper with a cocky grin. "Watch me, I'll play it perfectly within an hour."

"I'll hold you to that."

And in the end, he _did_ learn it within the hour. Damn Musician life hack, it took me a week in my old life.

But… I had to admit, it was nice to be able to sing again, while someone else played the piano.

••••••••••••••

In the end, it was only a matter of time. I threw caution to the wind, spending more time with Neah. I told myself he had more information, more secrets to uncover than the other members of the clan. It was only a bonus I enjoyed his company, enjoyed playing music and singing with him. He was lonely, too. He told me who the Earl was, that they were twins. He even confessed that he held comparable power to the Earl; while Mana took on the duty and position as head of the family, Neah became the Musician, emerging as the Fourteenth member of the family, capable of using the Ark to a greater degree than Mana could. But he said it was because the first Earl was their father, and that they were identical twins,

I didn't want to know when he would discover his and Mana's true origin. I didn't want to see the results.

Before long, I grew fond of him, truly fond. I liked Neah, loved him, even. It was no longer the feelings of the mask of "Allen"; instead it became my true feelings. So I waited for the day, patiently for the time when I became separate from Bookman Junior, for I had lost sight of my goal to become Bookman.

But that day never came.

I opened my eyes in my mindscape, fashioned after the main branch of the Bookmen clan. The entry hall was modeled perfectly after the real one, but the number of passageways varied; with every new record, one more would be added. I was at eighty-eight, in all, and I feared I would never reach past this number, Allen's fate looming above me.

I sat in a chair in the middle of the entry hall, staring up at the high roof of the cavern. Where was Bookman Junior? I rose from my seat, and someone came up to my side, tapping my shoulder.

I turned, and met my eleven year old self, auburn hair cut at his chin and let loose. I sighed. "Hello, Collin. Have you seen Junior?"

Collin, the 17th name, raised an eyebrow at me, as if I were dumb. "Really? Why are _you_ asking _me_ that dumb question? How stupid are you?"

I felt my lips pull into a frown. I never liked talking to Collin. "It's just a simple question, all you have to say is yes or no."

The younger rolled his eyes behind his round glasses, identical to mine, and opened his mouth, before a foreign hand slapped over it. "Collin, no!" yelled Lucas, the 52nd name, laughing a tad nervously as he used his other hand to scratch at his cheek. "Sorry about him, he's always so cranky! Maybe he isn't getting enough nutri— EW!" he cut himself off with a shriek, removing his hand as if he'd been burned. "DID YOU JUST LICK ME?!"

Collin crossed his arms like the brat he was, sniffing superiorly. "Not allowed to touch. Believe me, if there was another way, I would've taken it. Who knows where your hand's been."

The sixteen year old gasped, offended, as his low ponytail draped over his right shoulder. "You're just being rude!" He turned toward me with a beaming grin. "Ignore him! He's rude. What brings you here?"

I smiled hesitantly back, a bit unnerved by Lucas' exuberance. No wonder he became separate; I couldn't take such sincere emotional displays. "I was wondering if you've seen Junior…?"

The other cocked his head to the side, brow furrowing as he stared at me, as if wondering if I had really asked what I just asked. I scowled at him. "Well?" I demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He laughed again, high and anxious, in response. "It's nothing! It's just a weird question, after all! Since, well! _You're_ Junior, Junior! Why are you asking where you are?"

I was petrified for several moments. What did he mean, _I _was Junior? I sputtered. "What the hell does that mean?! Lucas, I'm _Allen,_ I'm separate! I started feeling true emotions, true fondness for Neah! It's only natural I became separate from the core, Bookman Junior. So I _can't _be him!"

"That's not true." I whirled around at the new voice, and sighed as he came into the light.

"Then what is the truth, Asher?" I deadpanned, exhausted as I slumped back into my chair, head in my hands. The most recent name, the 79th, sighed in response, pushing up his glasses with a hand. He looked the most similar to me, at the age of eighteen, with his hair long and twisted into a braid down his back.

"Simply put, you are still Bookman Junior, because it is Junior who is experiencing these emotions, not the mask of 'Allen'. Simply put, 'Allen' never existed, was never created in the first place. You were never playing a part. You were acting purely on your own judgment, not on a premeditated set of attributes," he explained. "Do you understand now, Junior? These are your true feelings."

I flinched, burying my face in my palms. "Why did this have to go so wrong?" I bemoaned. "Why didn't I create my persona, why didn't I wear a mask? Why was I so preoccupied with rejecting my role in this play that I didn't even bother to uphold my duties?"

I felt a hand on my head, and looked up at Lucas, smiling encouragingly at me. "It's okay, Junior. We can fix this. All we have to do is just let Neah die, right?" He smiled without a care in the world, and I blanched, mind running a mile a minute.

Let Neah die? Let my friend die? Let the person I sang with, laughed with, taught my precious songs to, die? I shook my head, trying to rid myself of those thoughts. Neah didn't matter. He was only ink on paper. I _wouldn't _go down the path of Allen, even if the fate of the world was at stake. I wouldn't let myself be trapped in the role of the protagonist.

"It's too late," Collin said softly. "Junior gave Neah those songs. He entrusted him with our greatest treasures. Do you really think he can just abandon Neah to his death?"

"He has to!" shouted the 52nd, clenching his fists. "Damn the world! Who cares, Junior needs to become Bookman! We can't let anyone ruin that, not even supposed 'friends'!"

"Why, Lucas, one could almost say you sound like a Bookman," replied Asher, voice dripping with snide venom. "Why are you a separate existence, again?"

"Enough!" I snapped, growing tired of their arguing. "I…" I entrusted Neah with my heart. I gave him my music, pieces of my soul. I couldn't let him die.

"I will not interfere with Neah's fate."

But being Bookman was my heart's greatest desire.

I'm sorry, Neah. But I'm still human, a very selfish one, and the world, and you, can burn if it means I can get what I want.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite my renewed resolve, life went on normally. I laughed, sang, and joked with Neah as if nothing were wrong, as if I wouldn't be leaving him to die. It surprised me, how genuine my emotions were, how easily I managed to ignore the truth. Neah never noticed anything different.

But, of course, I could only avoid the rest of the clan for so long…

Neah and I finished off the last notes of _lovely_, me with my violin and him with his piano, our synchronized humming fading away. I turned to beam at him, and he grinned back.

"That was amazing, Neah!" I exclaimed. "The first duet we've done, and we nailed it!"

He laughed in response. "I know, isn't it great?! It's like… It feels almost _natural_, to be doing this with you. Even more than singing…" he trailed off, before looking down. I sighed, placing my violin lovingly back into its case, and sat down next to the Noah on the bench.

Neah told me, once, that he and Mana used to do something like we've done, now. Where he'd play the piano, their shared lullaby, and Mana would sing, their backs pressed together reassuringly. But those days were long past. Mana didn't sing with him anymore, too busy and too focused on the clan.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, I used the other to maneuver his hands back onto the keys. "Play," I said softly. "Play the melody. I'll sing for you."

He looked up at me, shocked, before smiling a touch melancholic, and began to play. I opened my mouth, and sang, almost whispering the words, until I grew louder gradually.

As we finished off the melody, I was suddenly aware of a gaze, and turned, before freezing in place. Standing in the doorway was a dark haired girl, locks arranged in a spiky mess, with the characteristic grey skin and golden eyes of a Noah, staring blankly at me. Road Camelot herself was looking at me with an unnervingly empty stare, before her emotions took a one-hundred-eighty degree turn and she beamed. "NEAH!" she squealed, said Noah paling at the sound of his name. "I haven't heard you play that in so long! I never thought any but Millennie could sing as you played, who is this?!" She practically teleported over to me, grabbing my face in her hands, and I fought to stay still and not reveal any emotion besides bewilderment. She stared at me, head tilted to the side, clearly interested, and I wished the ground would swallow me whole. Catching the interest of one Road Camelot wasn't good for one's health, after all. She grinned widely. "Ahhhh, who are you! I'm Road, Noah's Dreams! You're really pretty, and I like your hair! And your eyes, though those glasses kind of get in the way! You'd make an amazing doll!"

I immediately tensed up, before I was ripped away from Road and placed behind Neah, who squinted at her. "No way am I letting you take Allen!" he snapped. "And he's certainly NOT going to be one of your dolls!"

"But Neah!" she whined, dragging out the vowels in his name. "He's so pretty! I wanna dress him up!"

The male Noah looked as if he were about to blow up, but I pushed him gently aside and walked out from behind him. "Don't worry, I got this," I whispered to him, before standing in front of Road. I smiled, taking her right hand with my own, and beginning to bow. "Hello, Miss Road. I'm Bookman Junior, but you may call me Allen. It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, before kissing the back of her hand and rising, still holding it gently. "Forgive me for my lack of manners earlier; I was a bit shocked." I laughed self-deprecatingly, unoccupied arm coming up to rub the back of my neck. I observed her reaction, her wide eyes and traces of shock, before curiously, her face turned red. I blinked. Did I overdo it?

She whirled towards Neah, face frighteningly intense even with her blush. "We're taking Allen to dinner!" she declared, and I nearly choked, before she had our conjoined hands in a better, hand-holding grip, and was dragging me out the door. Neah followed beside me, excited grin on his face despite my frantic whispering and gestures that _No, I didn't want to be anywhere near a Noah clan dinner, thank you very much!_ I immediately regretted turning on the charm at Road.

We whipped around corners, rushing down hallways in such a manner I almost felt I was going to be sick, before Road kicked open a set of double doors, iron grip on my right hand with the other clutched in Neah's, who grabbed it somewhere along the journey.

"SOMEONE GET ALLEN A CHAIR, NOW!" Road yelled, yanking me in after her so strongly I almost stumbled. I paled. This was going to end in tears and maybe blood, probably mine.

A maid, probably an akuma, appeared with an extra chair, Road directing exactly where she wanted it placed, between the only two empty spots. She dragged me over there, sitting down in one of the empty places and placing me down in the middle, Neah taking up the spot on my right. Even with Neah next to me, I didn't feel safe, not knowing Road's intentions towards me at all. I was half expecting her to impale me to the chair with her candles or something.

I surveyed the table, before freezing as I saw who was on Neah's right: Mana, the Millennium Earl. I broke into a coughing fit, Neah thumping on my back in an effort to help.

"Road," said Mana. "Why did you bring Bookman Junior? This is a _family_ dinner." I looked down, scared out of my wits. Was I going to die here? Was the Earl going to kill me for overstepping my bounds?

Road's cheeks puffed out, and she hugged my left arm to her chest. "But Millennie, I love him!" Almost the entire table choked, even Mana and Neah and especially myself.

I sputtered. "W-What?!"

She beamed up at me. "I love you!" she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"We barely know each other!" I argued.

"It was love at first sight!" she declared passionately. "And we can always get to know each other!"

"How do you even know you love me, we barely just met?!"

"The moment you spoke to me, looking into my eyes with your beautiful silver ones, I just knew! You're a prince! Prince Allen!" To my horror, she swooned. "You were so polite, so noble! Like a dream from a fairytale!"

Still, I weakly tried to argue. "But- Don't you hate humans?"

She levelled me with a half-lidded gaze, and it was like supernovas of the universe's mysteries were passing through her eyes. "Bookmen aren't human," she said, matter of fact.

"How?" I demanded. "We're completely human, born of humans!"

"Bookmen have ascended past humans," she explained. "They've lost what makes humans human: their hearts."

"If I have no heart, I can't love you back," I pointed out.

She looked trouble for a second, before growing determined. "Even if you don't look me back, that's fine! I just want you to stay by my side, even without love holding you there!"

I was distantly aware of the rest of the clan watching this by-play, but reeled back, away from Road, as if I was slapped. "That's…" I trailed off, voice shaking. "Isn't that unfair to you?"

She looked at me sadly. "Life isn't fair, Allen. Least of all to us Noahs." Before I could respond, she turned to Mana. "Can't he stay? Please?" she pouted.

"He's my friend, too," said Neah, putting in his two cents, even if he looked between myself and Road with a troubled expression. "I'd like for him to stay."

Mana sighed, but I knew he was unable to refuse his twin anyways. "Of course he can stay. But only this once!" he said half sternly, with a slightly joking smile. He looked at me, and I stared back. "I hope the food is to your liking," he paused for a second, "Allen."

I blinked, a bit stupefied. That was the first time I've heard my "name" from anyone besides Neah, Road, or my master. I paled, remembering my master. Shit, he was going to kill me!

Neah noticed my panic. "Something wrong, Allen?" he asked.

I sighed, picking up a knife and fork as a plate of food was placed in front of me. "My Master…" I whispered. "I don't think he'll be pleased with me, coming here alone." Unless, I silently added, I record everything that happens at this table perfectly.

"I'll cover for you," he promised. "We'll just tell him we lost track of time with our music."

"Music?" asked the host of Joyd, who sat across from us. He went by his Noah name, sandy haired and fair skinned when not in his Noah form.

I smiled politely at him. "Yes, Neah and I perform music together. It's how we first met, in fact. I was singing and he showed up right in front of my face, demanding I'd teach him the song." I was dangling a piece of information, inviting a trade of stories. And the family took the bait.

"_I_ remember when Neah and I were on a mission, and I lost him in the crowd, only to find him in the music shop, arms full with sheet music!" chimed in the host of Mightra, called Hassan.

I laughed, as everyone provided their own stories of Neah, recording every moment of their recounting.

"Neah!" called Lustol, who kept her Noah name. "Won't you and Allen play some music for us, sometime?" Curious gazes from everyone landed on the two of us, and I huffed out a silent laugh. Just three days ago, Lustol had looked upon me coldly, an inflectionless "Bookman Junior" on her lips. And now, the people who dismissed me and never spoke to me were all referring to me almost amicably. How the tables have turned.

Neah turned to me, eyebrow raised with a cocky smirk. "What do you say, Allen? You want to do a performance with me?"

I snickered, punching his shoulder lightly. "You're on, Campbell. Try and keep up, or I'll leave you behind."

"I think the one who'll be struggling to keep up would be you!"

Road slid into my lap, and I wrapped an arm around her, no longer minding her brand of physical affection. She grinned at me. "I can't wait to hear you both!" she said excitedly. Neah and I exchanged bright smiles.

"We're pretty good, if I do say so myself," said Neah arrogantly. "Probably better than any of the so called music geniuses!"

"I don't doubt that!"

The table erupted into laughter, soft and loud, and already, I've forgotten my fear and anxiety of the Noah clan.

••••••••••••••

Placing my quill, I leaned back with a sigh, stretching my hands over my head. Bookman whacked me over the head, and I winced. "Old man, what is it?" I complained.

"Are you finished with the record?" he demanded, obviously evading my question. Ever since I'd attended the dinner, he'd been vaguely snappish, and took to staring at me with an unreadable look in his eyes. I didn't know what he saw, but I doubted it was anything good.

I waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, it's done. Why are you in such a rush?"

"I just need to make certain you have included all of the details," he claimed. "Are you going out to see the Fourteenth again?"

I nodded, standing up and placing my hands on my hips, staring down at my scroll. "Old man, when do you think this war will end?"

"Why do you wish to know?"

"Just wondering… It's been going on for a while, honestly… I can't wait for it to be put to rest."

"Do you… hate the players of this war?"

I pondered for a moment. "No, I don't. I just think they're all simply a wonderful representation of humanity on a more intense, desperate scale. Despite the Noah's claims… They're so very human." In the end, like Road said… We, the Bookmen, are the true inhumans.

"The pinnacle of humanity, perhaps…" mused Bookman.

"This war demonstrates both humanity's nadir and zenith," I corrected. "Humanity's sins and virtues."

"Which side is which?" he questioned. I shrugged.

"Why not both?" And with that, I left the room.

••••••••••••••

Road latched onto my arm the moment I came within five feet of the designated music room, and I gave her an exasperated smile. "Road, I have to go plan with Neah. Go sit down, please?" I pleaded.

She pouted at me, begrudgingly releasing my arm and clasping her hands behind her back. "Fine! But you're coming with me to get candy, got it?" she demanded. I sighed.

"Fine."

She squealed. "It's a date, then!" She jumped up and planted a kiss on my cheek, before dropping down and skipping away. I flushed, more embarrassed than anything, and slipped through the back door of the room.

Neah looked up at my entry, adjusting his bowtie. We were both decked out in suits, Neah wearing black with a white shirt and tie, while I wore an inverted version of his, white with a black shirt and tie. I pushed his hands away, adjusting his bowtie myself.

"Sing with me on A Million Dreams," I requested, looking up to meet his eyes.

He blinked at me in shock. "What? Why? I'm just the pianist—"

"You know the words. Let the music guide you. You can sing, Neah, I've heard you. Sing with me."

His gaze skittered away from mine. "I don't know, Allen, I don't think I _can_ sing. I might mess this up, and I really don't want to."

"You won't mess up," I reassured him. "You're Noah's Musician, remember? All the odds are in your favor. The deck is stacked for you, not against you. You can do this."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, before smirking at me. "Alright, you convinced me. We got this."

"We got this," I echoed, and we went out on stage, me with my violin balanced on my shoulder, and him settling down in front of his piano. We met eyes, and he started off.

We sang together, voices mixing perfectly, his piano against my violin, tones threading together in harmony. It was different than any other duet we've sang before; almost like a door was opening up to us, like an invisible wall between us had been broken down. But even as I sang with him, my heart ached. Could I really leave Neah to his death? Could I really be so selfish? Lucas curled around my consciousness, whispering reassurances, saying there was no other way. I had to believe him, because what other option was there? There was no way to save Neah and stay on my path to becoming Master Bookman. I had to choose one over the other, choose to revive my heart or kept it dead.

A Bookman has no need for a heart… If I chose my heart, chose Neah, I would lose sight of my goal, and would be forever barred from my dream of becoming Bookman. But if I forsake Neah, it will be the final blow to the last vestiges of my heart. It would never revive again. Could I really do that?

The last notes left my mouth, and I was pulled to the present with the sound of applause. I smiled, bowing to the Noah clan, and noted some of their standing ovations. I have to be selfish, I reminded myself. This second chance was all about my selfishness.

_Don't lose sight of your goal,_ whispered Lucas.

I'm not, I swore. And I'm never going to. I turned to face Neah with a smile, setting down my violin, and taking a seat on the bench, my back pressed against his.

"I Don't Want To Be You Anymore?" he asked. I nodded, stifling a laugh. The song title was a lot different now than it was back then. He began to play, and I hummed, following the notes his fingers produced with the lyrics ingrained into my memory.

The mournful words trailed off in time with the piano, and I opened my eyes, unaware that I'd closed them. The Noahs were staring strangely at me, but I dismissed them, whispering "_Lovely_," in Neah's ears and taking up my violin. We would play together and sing, for this one.

Maybe both choices were a mistake. Maybe there was another way out. But I saw nothing but these two options. And my head and my instincts, they encouraged me to be selfish, and so selfish was what I would be.

••••••••••••••

Life went on, and the Noah clan accepted me. But only I was aware of the ticking of the clock, the countdown to all of their demise. This would leave everyone dead, Road in despair, and Mana, poor, poor Mana, insane and grieving so badly he locked his own consciousness away and mutilated his face.

"Do you pity them?" asked Yosef, the 30th name, chin propped up in a hand and elbow on his knee, crossed over his other one. The thirteen year old sat on a bookshelf in the replica of one of the main libraries, as I wandered idly, fingertips trailing over book spines. I removed the text detailing the Helix of Life and flipped through it.

"Pity who?" chimed in the 71st name, Kilian, waist length hair draped over his form as he leaned forward from his seat on the edge of the table.

Yosef bristled in indignation, glowering at the seventeen year old. "I wasn't talking to you!" Kilian laughed in response, a tad mockingly, and they engaged in an argument. I sighed bemusedly, wondering what compelled me to make most of my younger masks so surly, and most of my older ones so cheerful. Seneca, the 36th, smiled hesitantly at me, the thirteen year old sat across from me at the table. I glanced down at the book in front of him, and raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Harry Potter?" I asked quietly, and he blushed a little, rubbing the back of his head under his short, high ponytail.

"I thought it'd be nice to reread them…" he trailed off, before his nervous expression gained an exasperated edge as Yosef's and Kilian's argument grew louder. I sighed again, pushing my chair back and standing, leveling the pair with a stern look. "Yosef, Kilian asked the same question I was about to, so I would appreciate an answer. Perhaps be a bit more direct when asking me something. And Kilian, don't immediately assume a statement is directed at you. Respond when you are addressed." Yosef looked away, arms folded and lips pulled into a frown, while Kilian looked down in slight shame, locks of hair falling down to obscure his chastised face.

"Yes, Junior," they both intoned, with different but similar inflections.

"I wanted to ask if you pitied the Noah," reiterated Yosef, glasses low on the bridge of his nose. I sat back down, crossing one leg over the other and balancing both elbows on the arms of my chair, hands clasped together in front of my mouth.

"Not really…" I replied haltingly. "While I'm aware of their fate, there's a… disconnect. I don't feel neither joy nor sadness at their inevitable deaths."

Seneca fidgeted, before blurting out, "Why would Junior feel anything for ink on paper…?" He clapped a hand over his mouth, looking a bit mortified. I stared at him, thoughts running a mile a minute. Was that it? Did I not care for them because of my nature? Because I was a Bookman? Then why did I see them as ink on paper, but not Neah?

Kilian pulled a leg up to his chest, cheek leaning on his knee as he pinned me with an intense look. "Would you care if Road died?"

I shook my head. "Road won't die," I explained. "It's her destiny to be left behind."

"But what if she does?" the 71st persisted. "We don't know how she survived. It might've been because Allen had intervened. We might've changed the outcome with our actions. Road might end up dying."

"Doesn't that mean…" wondered Yosef. "Neah might end up winning?"

I intook sharply. "I… That's a possibility. We don't know the timeline. We probably made a mess of it, due to our lack of information… We've changed the outcome."

"But," warned Seneca. "Time theory. Certain events are set in stone. They _will_ happen, regardless of whether or not the events leading up to them stay the same."

"But what about the butterfly effect?" asked Kilian. "We don't know if that time theory's applicable in this universe. We _just don't know_. In the end, there's nothing we can do but just wait and see."

I put my face in my hands, breathing deeply. Neah, living? Neah, winning? It almost feels like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. If Neah won… I don't know what would happen. Would he go down the same path as Mana, going insane and becoming a mad puppet? Would he end this war, once and for all, negating anymore need for exorcists and Noah alike? I didn't know what would happen. The endless possibilities, they terrified me.

"Even if Neah wins… There's always still a chance he dies. There's no way to predict anything. Either he lives and wins, or loses and dies. It would be nice if he won… But if he dies, like we all initially thought, I can't change my mind. I'll still leave him to his death. Even if he wins, I'm still going to end up leaving him. One way or another, this'll end with us parting. One is just a more… permanent separation than the other."

The three looked to me with solemn faces, and I smiled, knowing how hopeless and broken it looked. I didn't know what the future would hold, but I was still a selfish human, endlessly chasing after a dream that would kill my heart.

* * *

if you want a list of songs allen and neah were singing i have the link to a spotify playlist i ended up making: user/acidtongue909/playlist/2hfCr0N6pNdB3CcAi4dOop?si=I_kV4_zSS2y3yP8-o-YAcg


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